Saying Goodbye
by sweet-apple-pie
Summary: A goodbye is not always the end. For some, it's but another beginning. Grand Prize winner of HPFF's Writers' Duel, Summer 2006 Challenge!


_A/N: This is a challenge fic I've written for the contest in harrypotterfanfiction . com... Believe it or not, it actually won the Grand Prize!_

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"And now, I give you the class of 1945!"

The Great Hall erupted into a storm of cheers and applause as hats were thrown into the air. In his seat up at the High Table, Albus Dumbledore smiled. It was once again that time of the year; yet another graduation was taking place in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Dumbledore surveyed the scene before him while he clapped along with the rest of the staff, a hint of nostalgia seeping through his bright, twinkling eyes as he recalled the various graduation ceremonies he had attended over the years. The graduated were, as per usual, hugging each other and grinning through their tears, completely unaware of Headmaster Dippet beaming proudly down at them. It wasn't just the students who were crying, either. Some of the more emotional teachers were shedding tears of congratulations as well.

And among them was the Potions professor sitting right next to him. Dumbledore sighed and patted his colleague's shoulder in a gesture of consolation.

"For heaven's sake, Horace, stop crying," he chided the walrus-like man in a quiet voice, watching helplessly as Slughorn scared some of the nearest students with his loud sniffling. Dumbledore shook his head in exasperation, then winced as Slughorn let out a fresh wail of despair. "You've had too much wine," muttered Dumbledore. "Put that glass down, Horace. _Now._"

Indeed, there was an alarming number of empty wine bottles scattered across the table in front of them. Slughorn gave a mighty burp and wiped the tears off his face, which, by now, had turned the same shade of crimson as the wine itself.

"Can't help it, Dumbl'ore," he slurred, throwing his free arm up in over-exaggerated grief. "So many mem'ers of my Slug Club graduating… what wonderful kids they were, too… inclu'ing the most brilliant student I've ever taught!"

Dumbledore's expression faltered at Slughorn's words. Not that Slughorn seemed to notice; he was too busy pouring himself another glass of wine. Dumbledore's gaze traveled over to the Slytherin table and soon fell upon a black-haired teen in the very center of the crowd. The boy wasn't hard to spot, what with his tall, fair appearance and a gang of Slytherin friends surrounding him wherever he went.

Yes, it made sense that Slughorn would miss the boy. This particular boy was a wonderful student in many ways. Or at least, he appeared that way for the world to see. A diligent student, very dedicated to his studies and as cunning as Salazar Slytherin himself. He was charming to his professors, and his courage in saving the school had even earned him a Special Services to Hogwarts award.

At the cost of another Hogwarts student by the name of Rubeus Hagrid.

Dumbledore's eyes darkened. He had never been able to believe Hagrid to be the one behind the Chamber of Secrets incident, but Dippet wouldn't hear of it. The expulsion, according to him, had been based on the information provided by a trustworthy student. When given the choice between taking the word of a half-giant and a Head Boy, Dippet's decision had been instantaneous. To this day, Dumbledore still regretted that he hadn't been able to convince the headmaster to retract the expulsion. Hagrid deserved to finish his magical education.

He glanced back at Slughorn and spoke up, keeping his voice light to conceal the deep mistrust he felt towards the boy.

"Ah. You're talking about Tom Riddle."

"'Course I am," replied Slughorn as he downed the shot in one gulp. Frowning, Dumbledore snatched the wineglass out of Slughorn's hand and placed it far out of the man's reach. The Potions professor let out a strangled sound of protest, but when Dumbledore fixed him with a disapproving gaze, he finally gave up and slumped in his seat. "Who else? Riddle got the best ruddy score on NEWTs since Albus Dumbl'ore himself! Ah, that'd be you, eh? But the boy says he wouldn't take the Minis'ry job I offered. Too stubborn for his own good, he is…"

With a sigh, Dumbledore settled in his seat and tuned out Slughorn's drunken rant. It was apparent that his colleague viewed Riddle's lack of interest in the Ministry as a regrettable loss, but Dumbledore had a more pressing concern in mind when it came to this particular student.

Why was it that Riddle, with such charisma and leadership, not to mention a brilliant mind, refused to use his skills to his advantage in a respectable, high-paying job? Was it simply because he didn't think the job suited him, as the boy himself had claimed? Somehow, Dumbledore doubted this excuse. In fact, he tended to doubt any and all words that came out of Riddle's mouth.

No, the boy had to have another reason.

Tom Riddle had other plans for the future. Of that much, he was certain.

**o o o o o**

The next day, Dumbledore found himself standing on the platform of Hogsmeade Station, ready to see the year's graduates off for the final time. There was a general bustle as students were shepherded onto the Hogwarts Express and their belongings crammed into compartments. The graduates could be seen casting last, longing gazes at the castle and the teachers were bidding farewell to their ex-students. Hugs were exchanged as they all burned into their memories the school days that they were sure to miss.

Dumbledore heaved a silent sigh. He supposed he should join in with the goodbyes, and yet, he couldn't seem to concentrate on wishing the graduates well on this special occasion. There was just a vague sense of dread in the pit of his stomach — an ominous feeling, one that had nothing to do with the weather — and he found it rather distracting.

Shaking his head to clear the troubling thoughts, Dumbledore stepped out from the shadow of a pillar. Early morning sunlight streamed onto his face, and if anyone had bothered to look, they would have seen that the man looked much older than he usually did at that moment. Bathed in the golden rays, every wrinkle stood out starkly, highlighting his ninety-something years. Dumbledore squinted and brought his hand up to block the brightness as he moved closer to the crowd, determined to see the students off with a smile on his face.

However, he had barely spoken to a couple of students, congratulating their graduation with a hug and a handshake each, when he came across a black-haired, dark-eyed boy. On instinct, he stopped in his strides, recognizing the student in a glance.

It was Tom Riddle.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, all noises around them faded into the background. The voices of the students and their laughter, the chirp of the birds, the bellow of the locomotive gleaming in the sunlight… they all diminished, insignificant in the frozen scene. It was as if time itself had stopped. Unwittingly, the memory of his final confrontation with Grindelwald, merely months ago, sprung up in his mind. The memory came rushing back in a vividness like he'd never experienced, and he felt the same apprehension — the same hostility — that he felt as he stood before his life-long enemy.

A shiver shot through his spine. Fleetingly, he thought he saw something stir inside those young, dark eyes.

Something red.

And then, with a blink, the moment was broken. Time flowed again as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Dumbledore could still hear his own quickened pulse and he forced himself to regain calm, firmly reminding himself that it was not his dead nemesis standing before him, but one of his own students. Even then, his senses remained extremely alert as he waited for the boy to make a move.

It was Riddle who approached him first.

"Professor Dumbledore," he greeted with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I had been hoping to catch you before I left. I just wanted to say that it was a pleasure learning from you, sir. I've always enjoyed your Transfiguration classes."

Dumbledore attempted to smile back, but he wasn't sure if he'd succeeded to convey much warmth in it.

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied nonetheless. "Congratulations on the completion of your magical education, Tom. It was a pleasure teaching you as well. I must admit, I have never met a student quite like you."

Dumbledore didn't miss the flash of annoyance that crossed Riddle's features at the use of his first name. He gave no outward reaction to this discovery, however, and in a second, Riddle had managed to school his expression back to that cold, yet neutral, smile.

"I was lucky to have met such a wonderful professor as you, sir. You were…" the boy paused, searching for the right word, "_special. _Not because you defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald, though it obviously proved you were a very powerful wizard, but perhaps because you were the one to have retrieved me from the orphanage. You seem to understand me better than the other teachers. You were somewhat… sharper. More well-informed."

_Quite inconveniently so._

Dumbledore caught the hidden message in Riddle's eyes, the mocking sarcasm that laced his voice. It was clear as day to anyone who knew where to look. He could almost see the sneer that threatened to show on Riddle's young face, though the boy concealed it with much skill. Riddle was used to fooling his teachers, it seemed; this must be something he'd perfected over the years.

"You flatter me," Dumbledore chuckled lightly, waving his hand airily. There was nothing light about the atmosphere, however; for all their pleasantries, neither was fooled by the casualness of the situation. There were subtle hints, here and there in the seemingly ordinary conversation, that betrayed the tension between the two wizards. He decided to take a bolder approach.

"But I am of the opinion that you are more than a little knowledgeable yourself, Tom. In fact, there were times when I had been amazed by your resourcefulness. I daresay you remember the Chamber of Secrets incident?"

Dumbledore, who had been carefully observing Riddle's reaction, was slightly disappointed to see that the boy didn't so much as bat an eyelash.

"Perfectly, sir," Riddle said, his tone smooth and appropriately mournful. "I couldn't possibly forget. It was a shame the monster couldn't be stopped before there was a casualty. At least the culprit was caught, even if there weren't enough evidence to punish him by law…"

Dumbledore's eyes hardened imperceptibly. "Yes. One fortunate fact in a series of misfortunes."

Riddle blinked in feigned confusion. "Whatever do you mean, Professor?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Only that I am glad the attacks stopped before there was a second casualty," replied Dumbledore, his wan smile as sincere as Riddle's innocent nod. The tension was getting thicker, he knew, and the true nature of this encounter was now obvious to both of them. But Dumbledore also knew that Riddle would never show his true color, however hard he may try to pry. No, the boy was too clever. That was when a curious question came to his mind.

"If you don't mind me asking, Tom, what do you plan to do now that you've graduated? I heard you didn't apply for a Ministry-related career — Professor Slughorn was most disappointed — and I cannot seem to recall hearing your future plans being discussed among the staff members."

At this, Riddle gave a cryptic smile.

"That would be because I never applied for a job, sir," he said with a shrug. "I plan to travel. After all, there are many things that cannot be learned in Hogwarts. Or in Britain, for that matter. I plan to see the world and seek to achieve my ultimate goal."

"And what would that goal be?" asked Dumbledore carefully.

Riddle's smile widened as he answered, "That is my secret to keep, professor, until I can proudly announce it to the world. I promise you will be among the first to know."

Dumbledore suppressed a shiver. He found the glint in Riddle's eyes as unsettling as the first time he'd ever seen the boy back in that small, Muggle orphanage, but for entirely different reasons. Eleven-year-old Tom Riddle had shocked him with his commanding ways; "_Tell the truth,_" he had said, and with a ringing force that didn't belong to a child. Now, though, it alarmed him that the very same boy — so polite and mature than he used to be, seven years ago — had the power to do what he wanted. Now, he _could _command. And since he was no longer a student, Riddle could do as he pleased without supervision from higher authorities.

"Ah," began Dumbledore, outwardly unfazed, "that is disappointing. But very well. I wish you luck on your endeavor, Tom."

"Thank you, sir."

They both looked up as a shrill whistle sounded from the train, reminding them of the time — or lack thereof. A split second of hesitation later, Dumbledore stuck out a hand. For a moment, Riddle froze. He then looked at Dumbledore, appearing, for the first time, genuinely surprised.

"This is goodbye, then," Dumbledore said. "Until the next time we meet."

Riddle stared at him for a long moment, almost as though weighing him, before he took the offered hand. This time, the smile was less guarded as he met his professor's gaze. There was a positively predatory look to Riddle's dark eyes as he shook hands firmly.

"Until next time, Albus Dumbledore."

And before Dumbledore could react, Riddle had turned on his heels and strode purposefully away until he disappeared into the mass of students crowding around the doors. The next moment, there was another whistle and the Hogwarts Express began to move. Dumbledore stood silently as he watched the train gather speed and run further away. His colleagues were waving at the rapidly shrinking train in farewell, but he couldn't have cared less.

Because this time, he had definitely seen the flare of red in Tom Riddle's eyes, and he recognized it as a threat.

The sense of dread that he had been feeling earlier returned in full force as the Hogwarts Express finally vanished from view. He had a horrible, sinking feeling that he had just done something extremely foolish; that in letting Riddle out of his sight and out of reach, he was endangering everyone. And deep inside, he knew exactly why.

On that fine morning, 1945, a monster had been unleashed. The day marked the end of the childhood of a brilliant student, and at the same time, the beginning of the boy's transformation, which would soon be followed by the darkest days the wizarding world would have ever seen.

And the world was too unprepared to face the evils of Lord Voldemort.

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_A/N: Reviews are very, very welcome!_


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